


Eggnog and Christmas Spirits

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M, caryl fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21549694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl, AU, oneshot.  A little eggnog spiked with some Christmas Spirit was good for both of them.  Set in the “As Dixons Do” universe, but can be read alone.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Eggnog and Christmas Spirits

AN: This is for the anon that requested “the night before Christmas” and some “naughty parents” in the “As Dixons Do” universe. As usual, it’s just a little oneshot set in that universe, but you can absolutely read it without having read that story.

Warning for a little Dixon Christmas smut.

I own nothing from the Walking Dead, but I do own the AU of “As Dixon’s Do” and that world.

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a Dixon under 18 was stirring.

But Carol was rosy cheeked and a little bit gigglier than she would normally find acceptable. Daryl certainly wasn’t going to scold her for it, though. In fact, his response was simply to add two shots of rum to the mug—plenty of spirits to feed the Christmas Spirit— that he mixed her this time. 

There was milk in the fridge for Jackson if he needed it—enough to get them through an emergency—and more in the freezer if Carol didn’t trust her milk for a while. 

Every now and again, Daryl reasoned, Mama deserved to relax and let her hair down, and Daddy loved it when Mama let her hair down.

“Looks kinda paltry this year,” Daryl said, offering Carol her mug and wrapping his arm around her while she gazed—eyes shining—at their Christmas tree. “You sure we ain’t forgettin’ nothing?” 

Carol hummed happily.

“All of Jude’s toys,” Carol said. 

“Wrapped ‘em,” Daryl said. “Except that push along dinosaur thing. Put a bow on that shit an’ it’s good enough.” 

Carol kissed his neck and sucked at the skin there. He shivered. He could smell the rum and, for just a second, he wondered if he should feel guilty for not having cut her off earlier. Her happy and satisfied hum, though, as she worked a little more at the tender skin of his neck told him that he wasn’t doing her any great injustice.

“Better stop or you gonna give me a Christmas hickey,” Daryl warned.

Carol giggled, but she did stop her work on his neck. 

“I got all of Jackson’s stuff wrapped,” Daryl said. “Except the mountain of diapers an’ stuff. Put all that in one box. It’ll be fine. He ain’t gonna remember a thing about this Christmas.”

“He’ll sleep through the whole thing,” Carol breathed out in agreement. 

Jackson was the youngest of their brood of five—all girls before Jackson—who ranged from 16 down to 3 months. 

“There ain’t nothin’ you can give him that he wants right now except them amazin’ fuckin’ tits you got.” 

Carol laughed to herself. She tugged at Daryl’s waist, and he realized that it was only because her arm was around him and she was swaying a little with her faltering balance and a quick step she made to the side. 

“Mika…” Carol said. It wasn’t a question or an answer.

“Got her stuff wrapped,” Daryl said. “The rest is all cash an’ gift cards an’ they all in envelopes. Stockings is stuffed with lip gloss and candy and shit. That’s why it don’t look like enough stuff. They too old for the toys an’ shit.” 

“Oh…” Carol lamented, drawing the sound out. Daryl glanced at her. She frowned deeply in the light of the multi-colored Christmas lights. This was the one night they’d leave the tree lights burning all night—which, honestly, Christmas morning was only a few hours away from them now. 

“What?” Daryl asked. 

“Our babies are growing up, Daryl,” Carol said with a sigh. “Sophia and Lizzie—they’re growing up and…they’re not even excited about Christmas.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“They’re plenty excited about Christmas,” Daryl said. 

“But not Santa,” Carol lamented.

“No crying,” Daryl commanded. “Your nest ain’t empty. Anything but—that’s a freshly hatched egg that’s sleepin’ on the other end of that monitor.” 

Carol sucked in a breath and let out a satisfied sigh. She threaded her arm through Daryl’s again and leaned against him.

“He’s so perfect, Daryl,” she mused.

Arguably, Jackson had been the easiest of their children so far. He was a remarkably easy-going baby. He very seldom cried and, really, it would have been easy to forget that he was even there. The girls had owned some baby dolls over the years that had disrupted the household more than their baby brother had since he’d come home from the hospital. 

And even though the girls had complained that a fifth child wasn’t necessary—and Jackson had really largely been an accident, but they weren’t telling him that—they were more enamored of their little brother than they wanted to admit.

At three months old, he was the best dressed baby boy in the whole town, and he’d already been on a million trips up and down the street in his stroller while is older sisters took turns safely practicing their mothering skills on the content little Dixon.

“He had to be perfect,” Daryl said, “he took after his Ma.” 

Carol laughed to herself and tasted the mug of eggnog that she’d been holding. Daryl had lost count of how many mugs she’d had, but it was very rare when Carol decided to drink, so he indulged her enjoyment of a little eggnog to make the proverbial season bright. 

She coughed and pulled away from Daryl.

“Holy shit, Daryl,” she said, “this tastes strong.” 

“Bad?” Daryl asked.

Carol drank another long swallow from the mug. This time she didn’t cough or fight her way away from the mug.

“Not bad,” she mused. “But strong…how much did you put in here?” 

Daryl smiled at her. 

“It don’t matter,” he said. “You just enjoy it.” 

She smirked at him. 

“If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Dixon,” Carol teased, “I’d say that you were trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me.” 

“I sure am hoping I get the opportunity,” Daryl said, purposefully wagging his eyebrows at the woman that he’d been married to for more than two decades. She smiled warmly and puckered at him slightly. He immediately accepted her invitation to kiss her and reveled a little in the rum and eggnog flavored kiss that she gave him. 

She might tease him about his intentions to take advantage of her, but he could tell from the kiss that, by the time she finished that mug of eggnog, she’d be trying to ride him like Santa’s sleigh. He wrapped his hands around her and pulled her against him, shamelessly grinding into her. She’d barely had time to hold her mug out to the side to keep herself from spilling it. She groaned and panted a little into Daryl’s mouth.

“What would the girls think if they came downstairs right now?” She asked with a quiet, throaty laugh as their lips parted.

“They’d think that Mama was kissin’ Santa Clause,” Daryl said. He held her against him, still, and she responded by pressing her body into his—grinding against his leg a little—to quietly show her interest in what he was already proposing. 

“You keep doin’ that,” Daryl said, “and Santa’s gonna do more’n kiss you. They gonna come down the stairs to see me takin’ full advantage of their mother under the Christmas tree.” 

Carol swigged down another mouthful of her drink, clearly no longer bothered by the rum, and then she put the mug on the coffee table near them. She squared up with Daryl and pulled him back for another kiss. There was absolutely no denying the hunger in her kiss. By now he knew her. He knew what she wanted and, even, how she wanted it from the very way she looked at him or kissed him. 

“Sounds good to you, huh?” He breathed out. 

“Mmm hmmm,” Carol hummed. “Oh—please…?” 

She kissed his face, her fingers turning his face as she did, tasting every inch of his skin. She was pressed tightly enough against him that she had to know that his dick was straining for release from his pants. She expertly unbuttoned his pants with one hand and wrapped her hand around him. She stroked him and he hissed at her. She laughed to herself. 

“Shhhh…” she whispered. “It’s got to be a silent night if we don’t want company. The kids would never overcome it if they caught us, and we don’t have enough money to pay for that much therapy.” She hummed to herself after Daryl kissed her again—caught up in his own burning fire. His brain felt almost dry as she stroked him again, and she laughed quietly in her throat. “I know at least one little Christmas elf that’s interested in celebrating.” 

Daryl forced himself to catch her arms and stop her.

“Just—just promise me this ain’t just the eggnog talking,” he said. 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I’ve had a lot of eggnog,” she ceded. 

“You have,” Daryl assured her.

She smiled at him and winked her eye quite dramatically.

“But you’ve only been preparing it for the last two mugs,” Carol said. 

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her.

“Are you saying that you aren’t as drunk as I think you are?” Daryl asked.

“I’m saying—I’m as drunk as I want to be,” Carol said. “And—right now? Daryl, I could jingle your bells,” she teased, ending with a snort of amusement that only made her laugh at herself. Daryl couldn’t help but laugh in response. 

“I’m warning you,” he said. “You keep teasin’ me like that and I’m gonna deck your halls good. Give you the merriest Christmas you can ever remember.” 

She smiled at him and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Then stop talking,” she challenged, “and make good on your promise before anybody wakes up and kills the Christmas spirit.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Daryl growled at her. “You wanna—take it to the bedroom?”

Carol hummed at him in the negative.

“I think we’re fine right here,” Carol said. “After all—you promised me that you were going to take advantage of me by the light of the Christmas tree. Play your cards right, and I might even let you tie me up with tinsel.” 

Daryl didn’t even laugh at her. He didn’t respond in any way other than to push her toward the couch. She might want to have an adventure—and a daring one at that—in their living room, but he knew that neither one of them needed to go and try to do something stupid like roll around on the hard floor. She didn’t fight with him at all. She didn’t argue. She went happily to the couch and helped him get her sweater over her head. She helped him get her bra loose. And while he got rid of his own pants to make this work without pulling something, she stripped herself down the rest of the way.

And if they got caught, there was no talking their way out of what was happening. Judith and Jackson were the only two in the household that were too young to have known what was taking place if they saw it so obviously.

But neither of them really cared that they might be handing out some kind of trauma if their kids came down to see if it was Santa bumping around in the living room.

Maybe it was more exhilarating, honestly, because they both knew that they could be caught at any moment. Maybe it was the daringness behind it that made it that much better when Daryl covered Carol’s mouth with his own to swallow up the sounds that involuntarily escaped her as she clamped down hard around him and her body pulsed with the orgasm that rocked her—an orgasm that he had to wait out before he could finish the search for his own release, her body responding almost violently to his presence for the rest of their time together, aftershocks from her orgasm pulsing around him with every thrust until he finally fell free from her body and collapsed against her, momentarily, to catch his breath and let his strained muscles rest just a little.

Daryl supported himself with his knee enough to keep from crushing his wife into the couch, and she didn’t ask him to move. For just a moment, he nuzzled against her, wholly satisfied to simply remain with their bodies as close together as nature allowed.

She reached around him and tugged the blanket off the back of the couch and let it drop over them.

He laughed as he nuzzled her neck and kissed the warm, soft skin there.

“I don’t wanna leave here,” he said.

“We can stay a few minutes,” Carol ceded. “But then we better move.” 

“My bare ass is covered now,” Daryl said. “Worse damn things in the world they could see than proof that their parents still fuckin’ love one another.” 

Carol hummed at him happily. 

“You know the girls,” Carol said. “They’d probably protest by washing their eyes with bleach or something equally dramatic.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

He kissed Carol again and pushed himself up. He dropped the blanket onto the couch and gathered up their clothes. Balling them up and shoving them under his arm, he reached a hand toward Carol.

“Then let’s make a run for it,” Daryl said. “Let ‘em live happy with the trauma they already got. Save them from some fancy ass Christmas trauma.” 

Carol hurried ahead of him and he followed her to the bedroom. 

“We could stay up a little longer,” Carol offered. “If you want. Try again?”

“I’d rather just—get in the bed,” Daryl said. “If it’s OK with you. Gotta be up early.” 

“The girls probably won’t be up that early,” Carol said. “They’re too old to be excited about Santa and Jude’s too young.”

“Maybe so,” Daryl ceded, doing his best to usher his wife to come to bed and snuggle up with him before the lingering feeling of their time together faded entirely and broke the magical spell of wanting to stay so close to her. “But I gotta get up early and go to the store.” 

“What’d we forget?” Carol asked, snatching away from him in shock, and a touch of panic, just as he got her settled into the bed. He pulled her back down against him and wrapped his leg over her for good measure to keep her near him. 

“Didn’t forget anything,” Daryl said. “But we gonna need a lot more eggnog.”


End file.
